My expression turned grim.
Someone had dragged me into an illusion!
***
My brothers and I headed down the mountain range, making our way toward the distant Great Hall. For a while, silence settled between us as we quickened our pace. Snow fell from the skies, occasionally giving way to fierce blizzards — a common occurrence in Scandinavia.
The snow that fell from the blue skies, accompanied by the stunning aurora, created a beautiful backdrop against the frozen landscape. If only the occasional blizzards that swept through the land didn’t destroy numerous villages, leaving the survivors, if any at all, homeless and grief-stricken.
Much worse, however, was what lay in the far north.
I shuddered.
We were now past the mountain range, with the people of Uppsala going about their daily activities. They offered greetings as we passed by. Arngrim, as always, replied enthusiastically. A few among the Karls who were more familiar with the third prince even stopped to ask how his day was treating him, resulting in a few short yet amusing exchanges.
"Good morning, Prince Arngrim! How fares your day?" asked a Karl.
"Quite well, Bjorn! Though I fear the cold is beginning to numb my toes."
"Ha! Perhaps the prince should wear thicker boots, then."
Arngrim laughed, the sound carrying across the snow-covered land.
I smiled at the exchange.
I nodded in response to my people’s greetings as I did every other day, while our eldest brother waved in response. With his hands clasped behind his back and a calm expression on his face, he bore a closer resemblance to Father than the rest of us probably did. And perhaps, that was for the best.
It was freezing here in the far north of the world. However, everyone had long since grown accustomed to it.
It hadn’t always been like this, though.
The climate had once been cold, but mildly so. Father said that, along with the corruption of mana, came the appearance of the Land of Nightmares at the farthest reaches of the north. And we, the people of Scandavinia, were the only line of defense the world had against the nightmarish abominations that dwelled within.
Many of my people had died at the hands of those ancient horrors, entire families wiped out in the process. Which raised the question: why hadn’t Father sought help from the rest of the world? The kingdoms closer to the far west, at the very least. And if they refused to help, why not subjugate a few of those Kingdoms and ease the burden on his people?
That was, among many others, one of the questions that always lingered on my mind. And one that I still had no answer to.
Just then, I noticed a familiar presence, pulling me from my thoughts. An air of coldness surrounded my second eldest brother as he approached, his presence as distant as ever.
"Good luck," he said.
I nodded in response. He turned to walk away, but Olvi’s voice stopped him.
"Since you’re here, Ivar, you might as well join the rest of us."
Ivar paused and glanced at Olvi. For a while, he said nothing. He almost never did. Eventually, however, he nodded.
Olvi probably knew Second Eldest Brother’s personality better than anyone. The two had spent more time together than any of us, after all, and Olvi had long since learned that Ivar’s silence rarely needed to be filled with words. Pressing Ivar for words would only earn one more silence. So, he said nothing and simply walked forward, the rest of us falling into step beside him.
Second Eldest Brother could be a source of unease at times. However, we were all used to it by now. Well... at least, we told ourselves that.
The Great Hall was now in sight.
The hall was enormous, built from dark timber and decorated with shields, carved pillars, the skulls of nightmarish horrors, banners, and weapons. Snow fell outside, strong and harsh winds battering against the wooden doors.
The smell of roasted meat, wet wool, leather, and liquor drifted into my nose as I stepped into the hall.
Silence fell upon the Great Hall. The Jarls, Hersir, Karls — commoners, farmers, and merchants — and the fortunate thralls accompanying their masters all turned their gazes toward us.
"The youngest lord is here!" someone’s voice echoed through the hall, resulting in loud cheers from the drunken crowd.
The subtle pressure I’d felt moments before stepping into the hall soon vanished, replaced by the laughter and excitement of those within.
I could tell that some among the nobles had come because they had no other choice, while others were here out of curiosity, eager to see what my oath would entail.
Who didn’t know about the fourth prince’s ambitions? His talent and feats resound throughout the far reaches of the north, after all.
I smiled.
"Greetings, young lord."
The jackals and the wolves — the numerous nobles who came here for political reasons — greeted with wide, beaming smiles. I nodded in response.
I turned my gaze towards the end of the hall. At the far end sat Mother, and beside her... Father. He was clad in a simple, heavy cloak clasped with a golden brooch, his sword resting beside him, while the insignia of the Royal House adorned his cloak.
The important people of Scandavinia were all present. There was the Jarl of the Eastern Fjords, the Jarl of the Western Isles, and the more dreaded and respected... Jarl of the Northern March.
Warriors, priests, seers, shield maidens, and a few servants and common folks gathered around the edges of the hall, while the more reputable figures drank ale from curved horns.
The crowd buzzed with noise, excitement, and greetings for a while before it eventually died down.
Silence.
Then came Father’s words:
"Ragnar, Son of Hvithrim, kneel and swear your oath before the gods, your King, and the people of Scandinavia."
Step, Step.
I parted from my brothers, stepping forward as I knelt before Father.
I could almost hear my heart thundering in my chest. And it wasn’t because I was scared or unsettled. No... all I felt was an inconceivable sense of anticipation.
Excitement. It was all I felt at that moment.
I had waited for this day for as long as I could remember. And it was with that feeling, along with a grim determination toward the future, that I said aloud:
Thud!
"I, Ragnar, son of Hvithrim, swear by Odin, by Thor, and by the blood of my ancestors: I shall not flee while my brothers stand. I shall not beg while strength remains in me. I will bring glory to our people, honor to our ancestors, and carry Odin’s name wherever my hands may reach."
The silence in the hall deepened.
Along with it came a growing sense of unease, my words settling over the hall like a heavy shroud.
"I swear that no land beneath the sun shall be beyond my reach, and that my name shall eclipse that of every man who came before me."
Some looked on with hidden smiles, while others wore mixed expressions. After all, although I was openly opposing the King’s decision, deep down, it was all they ever wanted. I could see the truth in their eyes.
Beneath their feigned disapproval lay the hunger for conquest they dared not voice.
"I swear that when the skalds sing of kings and emperors, they shall measure all others against me."
Silence settled over the Great Hall. I raised my head, my voice ringing one last time:
I could almost see Mother’s worried expression. Could almost see her silently begging that I not say those final words. I could also see the feverish anticipation in Third Brother, the solemn expression on Eldest Brother’s face, and the silent acknowledgement from Second Eldest Brother. After all, his oath was just like mine, if only far more dreadful and frightening.
"Should I forsake this oath, let the gods deny me Valhalla!"